


Otherworldly

by speakgenerally



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakgenerally/pseuds/speakgenerally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew that he was just waiting for someone to hurt him, to bite back, to say what Stiles was always feeling, to show Stiles the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otherworldly

**Author's Note:**

> Derek isn't related to Peter or from Beacon Hills.

Stiles could be secretive, even though he normally told everyone that would listen anything at all. He knew he was loud. He knew it could be categorized as annoying, but only if you didn’t know him. Well, even sometimes Scott and his father thought he was annoying. And although that had always hurt, he knew he could be a handful, knew he could push and push and push irritatingly at things people didn’t want pushed at. 

Stiles was that kid who poked that dog with a stick, not that he wanted to hurt him, or play with him and essentially degrade mans best friend, but to see what would happen. The curiosity of being pushed until you snapped, until you broke. 

It was only when he was older that he knew how fucked up that was. He knew that he was just waiting for someone to hurt him, to bite back, to say what Stiles was always feeling, to show Stiles the truth. It’s why he’s been staying away from Scott, because he knew it was fucked up, but more importantly it hurt to know that Stiles was right all along. Everyone leaves him, everyone finds something better than him to stay with.

So, maybe it wasn’t a secret that Stiles was hiding, maybe it was a universal truth. Stiles was worthless, and at the end of the day it hurt less to be that, than to have no one care. Scott was a werewolf now. Scott had other people to hang out with now. Isaac and Allison, even though one was a fucking hipster asshole, and the other a psychotic werewolf torturing bitch. Even that was better than Stiles. 

After the Alpha pack was forcibly removed from Beacon Hills everyone left anyways. What was the point of protecting anything if everyone was just going to leave it, let it drown, let it pant after each suffocating breath? 

See, Stiles always wanted to prove everyone wrong. Come back from deaths doorstep, just to show, just to prove that he wasn’t worthless. He was strong. He was smart. He was good. He was what everyone should strive to be. He wasn’t worthless. Maybe he couldn’t beat death, maybe he’d never be that strong, he was human after all. But he could cheat it. He was cunning and even if he was clumsy by nature, he was quick and nimble from instinct. 

Maybe that didn’t matter, either.

Everyone thought his mother was the only person that was taken from him, rather than walking away. But that’s not the case, she wanted him gone, and maybe it was the dementia, but it doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t want him around. Scott may still be in Beacon Hills but he left him a while ago. Moved up to the big leagues with his girlfriend and a new best friend. Erica and Boyd are dead and he didn’t know them enough to know exactly how to feel. It was tragic, and it was awful that they lost their lives but he knew very little of them and most of that wasn’t good. Was painful, was humiliating, and Stiles has enough humility and he didn’t needs those two adding to his shit. Even in death. 

Maybe Stiles wasn’t really good. 

But Scott drifted away quickly, his dad started to disappear with disappointment and Stiles floated, so precariously above water. Stiles should have known better to think he’d cheated death once more and although Scott left and that was sad, but it wasn’t the worst. He still had people. Still had his life raft. He could start to be better to make it worth it to keep him, to stay with him. 

He thought he and Peter had grown closer. Close enough to maybe be considered pack. Even if he was human, and couldn’t heal as well, and wasn’t as fast and not as strong, but enough to be considered almost equal. 

He thought that if Peter wouldn’t stay then he’d at least ask Stiles with him, and Cora. But no, they just left like thieves in the night without any goodbyes. At least not to him, Scott the true alpha got a goodbye. And he didn’t even give a fuck. 

Scott told Stiles about the departure a couple days later while he was being dragged by Allison to class. There wasn’t any water then, just fire, just heat, just a burning rage that burnt out his stomach and charred his heart. 

It was the start. The start to the flood. The start to drowning his pain, to washing away everything wrong, and everything that was pushed together at awkward angles that made Stiles what he was -broken, alone, hurt. 

There was that darkness always surrounding Stiles now. He knew it was the sacrifice, knew that this was what was wrong with him; he was left yearning, desperate when everyone left him. Never fast enough, never worthy enough to keep up, They let him sink, let him suffer because everyone can go on without him, and he can’t go on alone, The water finally reached Stiles’ lungs, and he couldn’t breathe. 

That was Stiles other curse, wanting to give up, wanting to throw in the towel, but not being able to. He was alone, he could fade away in that black abyss around him, and it should seem cold, should be lonely, but he can feel its warmth calling out to him sometimes. Darkness can hide things, can hide something else that maybe just wants to belong, something that just wants Stiles to go to it, and to stay with it.

Maybe Stiles isn’t alone after all, and maybe that’s the secret. Maybe Stiles can be quieter now, now that something wants his attention. Maybe now he can rest, and breathe easy in that dark warmth, maybe Stiles won’t be alone.

Maybe he’ll never be alone again. 

So, Stiles gave into that darkness. Gave into that warmth; so much better than a hug. Stiles gave in and he wasn’t drowning anymore, wasn’t under the surface. He was soaring; he was flying through the cool, crisp air. He didn’t know how this was real. Didn’t know when metaphor became reality. 

Stiles wakes with a start. 

Lying in what should be Hale preserve, since that’s the closet forest near him, it’s not though. It feels different, earthier, and more real. Stiles looks up with realizing he‘s not alone. There‘s a man who is tall, dark and handsome, that looks a little too close to perfect for Stiles to know what to do with. 

“Stiles,” The man moves closer, about to lay a hand on Stiles, when Stiles jolts back and away from the touch. 

“Where the fuck am I?” Stiles can’t cheat death if he doesn’t know where he is, if he doesn’t know where to hide, and to run to. He is already at a disadvantage. 

“I’ve told you where we are,” The man replies and Stiles doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. 

“I’ve never seen you in my life when did you tell me?” Stiles gets to his feet once he realizes he’s still sprawled on the ground. The man looks confused for a moment. 

“I’ve never dealt with humans before there must have been some memory loss when I crossed you into our world,” The man tells him looking apologetic. 

“What.” Stiles’ mind does not even understand that sentence.

“Stiles, you seem to be missing some very important memories about us,” Stiles heart clenches when this man or whatever the fuck he is talks of the two of them together. “I’ll condense everything, all you need to know is you are mine. You’ve agreed, nay, you’ve begged me for it. I’ve waited, Stiles. I’ve waited allowing you to become sure, because I know humans develop at such a slower rate than we and live a lot shorter of lives. But I didn’t want to waste this, didn’t want to waste valuable time of having you just because you may not understand it fully, you understood enough. You needed someone. And then I found you,” The man’s eyes turn completely black and it should frighten Stiles, but it doesn’t. He shivers, and realizes how cold he actually is. 

“So,” Stiles coughs and stands up, apparently now believing the man no threat. “What’s you name? I seem to have lost that memory as well.”

“Derek,” The man says inclining his head, eyes still black as they roam over Stiles’ body. And Stiles thinks he’s been mind whammied because he can feel it. Feel something, not hands, not even close just something unseen and yet all consuming running over his body lighting it up with heat, with a need for those hands, for something he can feel, can touch back. 

“Well Derek,” Stiles doesn’t want to question this because Stiles knows of werewolves, of Darachs, of Kanima’s and Banshees. He knows there are things with magic, things with power, and he knows that whatever Derek is he is powerful. He is beautiful, and he is kind in his own stoic and partially aggressive way. He wants Stiles, while he apparently _has_ Stiles, but that doesn’t seem to really matter. Not yet, maybe not when this is so new, and yet so final. 

Stiles should think this through more. Not to be swayed by a pretty face, because he has seen terrible things and has been lied to and has lied himself. Felt betrayed, and alone. He knows not everything is good, is fair, but he also knows how inconsequential he is, and that’s why he doesn’t think. Derek seems powerful, seems so uncaring of the “other world” and that means that he’s at least powerful enough in this world to mean something. 

Stiles wants to ask that first, but than realizes he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to. Because Derek found him, and that’s all Stiles really cares about. Stiles needed someone, and that was true, and Derek found him.

“What do you do with me now that you’ve found me?” Stiles asks and Derek’s eyes are no longer just black, they are outlined in a deep red that makes it more prominent that Derek isn’t anything Stiles has seen before, it is not vibrant like Peter’s alpha’s eyes, but dark like a pool of blood. 

“Stiles,” A fang sharper than a wolves’ makes an appearance beneath a smirked lip, “You have not forgotten this too? I’ve only just told you. I do as you’ve begged me, I claim you.”

Stiles thinks he might be hard, but he can’t really tell because it’s as if he’s paralyzed by the words. 

Then everything comes back to him, and he knows he’s hard now. 

“I’m really hoping that claiming means what I think it means,” Stiles says and Derek grins and moves in close. This time Stiles doesn’t move away, and lets Derek take his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted this to be a longer story and to make Derek some powerful fae, but I don't know enough about it so this is it.


End file.
